This Christmas
by RemyDico5
Summary: John tries to get Sherlock into the Christmas Spirit
1. Chapter 1

So please just fall in love with me this Christmas  
>There's nothing else that you will need this Christmas<br>Won't be wrapped under a tree  
>I want something that lasts forever<br>So kiss me on this cold December night.

They call it the season of giving  
>I'm here, I'm yours for the taking<br>They call it the season of giving  
>I'm here, I'm yours<p>

-Cold December Night, Michael Buble

"So what are your plans for Christmas?" John asked flopping down into his chair, exhausted from a long day at work.

"Hmm?" Sherlock asked absentmindedly from where he was lying sprawled out on the couch, his laptop sitting on his chest as he typed away. He was still in his pajamas and a dressing gown even though it was almost five at night, which meant he hadn't left the flat all day.

"Christmas Sherlock, you know where people decorate trees and exchange gifts?" John reminded him.

"I don't celebrate Christmas." Sherlock frowned, still wrapped up in whatever he was doing on his computer. It was already December and John needed to start making plans.

"What? Why not?" John asked in surprise.

"I don't believe in a supreme being watching over us and judging out behaviour. It would be hypocritical of me to celebrate the birth of his so called son."

"You don't have to believe in God to celebrate Christmas. It's a time to be nice and giving, as foreign as those concepts are to you. Besides, I've heard Mycroft mention Christmas dinners before, so you must celebrate it a bit." John reasoned.

"Yes, my annual dinner with Mummy and my insufferable brother is the extent of my participation in the holiday." Sherlock replied, snapping the laptop shut, chucking it next to him on the sofa and stalking into the kitchen.

"So you won't be wanting a present then?" John spoke up so Sherlock could still hear him.

"No." Sherlock answered, stepping into the kitchen doorway holding a cup of tea that John knew must be cold. Sherlock didn't make tea and John hadn't had time to since arriving home. It must have been left over from what he'd made that morning. "Anything I need I can buy for myself. The only reason to buy gifts is the expectation of reciprocity. I'm not going to give you anything, so you might as well save your money."

"Alright, I will." John shrugged, grabbing the paper off the table next to him and scanning it for anything interesting. "And by the way, some people just enjoy giving gifts and don't expect anything in return."

"Hmm." Sherlock replied noncommittally as if he didn't really believe that. He took a sip of his tea and made a face. "John the tea's gone cold, can you make some more?"

"Why can't you make it yourself?" John asked turning the page on the newspaper and buried his face in it to hide from his flat-mate's expectant gaze.

"You're much more skilled at it than I am. Consider it getting an early start on your season's giving's." Sherlock gave him a wry smile before disappearing back into the kitchen to pour out his cold tea.

"You don't get to sniff your nose at Christmas one minute and then use it to get what you want the next. It doesn't work that way." John called back in irritation.

"John, you're going to make yourself a cup once your done with the paper anyways and we both know it. It shouldn't be too much trouble for you to make me one as well."

He was right; a cup of tea was exactly what John wanted. Yet a part of him thought about denying himself simply because he knew it would annoy Sherlock. Instead he sighed loudly and put the paper down, going into the kitchen to put the kettle on. Sherlock was sitting at the table, engrossed in whatever he was examining under his microscope.

"You know, tea's not that difficult to make. Someone as clever as you could pick it up in no time." John joked dryly, leaning against the counter.

"Dull." Sherlock waved it off, too enthralled with his experiment to come back with a witty retort.

When the tea was finished brewing, John filled two mugs and placed one at Sherlock's elbow. His flat-mate made no mention of it except to grab it and raise it to his lips, never taking his eyes off his experiment. John huffed out a breath and took his cup back into the sitting room, turning on the telly and raising the volume up high just to get on Sherlock's nerves.

"John!" Sherlock chastised him from the kitchen. John rolled his eyes but turned off the telly. There was nothing good on anyway.

"I'm going to go get a tree." John called, slipping on his jacket.

"What for?" Sherlock called back.

"Christmas Sherlock. Remember? I'll be back in an hour. Try not to burn the flat down while I'm gone."

Sherlock harrumphed in response but didn't say anything further. John just shrugged, drained his tea and left. He wasn't about to let Sherlock ruin his Christmas. They were going to have a tree and decorate it, he was going to sing Christmas carols slightly off key and give gifts. Nothing Sherlock said or did was going to stop him.

XXXX

John didn't really bring up Christmas for the next few weeks. It was a sore subject and anything even slightly Christmas-y sent Sherlock into one of his moods. Meanwhile John was busy running around London, trying to prepare everything on his own. He put up the Christmas tree, decorated it by himself while Sherlock grumbled and whined about how it was in the way.

He also rushed around town like a madman trying to find presents for everyone. In spite of what Sherlock thought, John did not expect anything in return. He simply enjoyed making people happy. Besides, it was the season of giving.

It took him until three days before Christmas to finish finding everything he had in mind. He sat on his bedroom floor, furiously wrapping away. He wanted to deliver as many of the presents in person as possible. That meant he needed to get everything sorted before Christmas Eve.

XXXX

Sherlock had never understood the big deal that people made out of Christmas. For him, Christmas meant forced family time while his mother asked when he was going to get a real job. It was hours on end of Mycroft acting like a pompous ass and bragging about all his accomplishments. It was an evening of torture.

No Christmas had become synonymous with agony. He was forced into eating more food in one sitting than he did in a month's time. It meant watching Mycroft gorge himself on chocolate pudding. It meant getting gifts he didn't want or need from a family who had no idea what he really wanted.

He remembered Christmas as a boy. For whatever reason he hadn't deleted it. He used to love it, back before he and Mycroft started loathing each other. Back when he used to get Chemistry sets and other useful and interesting gifts. He'd gotten his violin for Christmas when he was eight. That was probably his favorite Christmas.

But now he wished the whole damn holiday would just bugger off. The forced cheeriness and people singing songs about nonsense. It was no wonder this time of year had such a high suicide rate.

It didn't help that John seemed to throw himself into the holiday with such vigor. His cheeks seemed to take on a permanent rosy quality and his eyes were a bit brighter. It seemed that nothing Sherlock did could ruin his friend's good mood and that was possibly the most annoying part of all. Sherlock wanted to yell and have a tantrum but John refused to engage, leaving Sherlock to sulk on the couch. It was infuriating that John seemed so swept up that Sherlock couldn't even voice his disdain for all things Christmas related.

And somehow John had managed to rope him into helping. Two days before Christmas, John came bounding down the stairs from his room, carrying two large bags with him. He had on a red jumper with white snowflakes and a Santa hat adorning his head. He topped it all off with an infectious smile and Sherlock scowled to keep from returning it. He was not going to get sucked into John's merriment.

"Here, make yourself useful." John said, shoving one of the bags into Sherlock's arms.

"You can't possibly know this many people." Sherlock reasoned, examining the contents of the bag. It was filled with presents, each one with different bows and wrapping paper.

"That's what you think." John replied with a grin and went over to get his coat. He threw on his jacket and held out Sherlock's coat for him. "Come on Ebenezer Scrooge, I'm going to show you the meaning of Christmas."

"Sounds dull." Sherlock grumbled but he slipped into his coat anyways. Mostly he was just curious about who the presents were for.

"Ok, come off it." John sighed, clearly getting fed up.

"No." Sherlock said being petulant and unable to stop.

John grabbed something off his chair and moved towards Sherlock who quickly backed away. "What are you doing?"

"It's a hat Sherlock."

"Yes I can see that." Sherlock rolled his eyes and continued to dodge John's attempt to get it on his head.

"Look, if you want to come with me, you'll wear it."

"I don't want to come with you." Sherlock snapped back. "I'm certainly not putting that on my head."

"Oh come on, I can tell that your interest is peaked. You're curious about who the presents are for. If you don't help me, you'll never find out."

John took the bag from Sherlock and left, his step having a discernable bounce to it. Sherlock looked at the green elf hat John had left on the chair. Damn him for making Sherlock wear it and damn him for being right about Sherlock being curious.

Begrudgingly, Sherlock snatched up the hat and shoved it onto his head. He left the flat quickly, hoping the catch up with John before he left. To his surprise, John was waiting at the bottom of the stairs, a smug smile forming on his face that widened when he saw Sherlock in the hat. Good thing he didn't laugh or Sherlock would have had to strangle him.

Sherlock shoved his hands in his pockets and stomped down the steps.

"Knew you'd change your mind." John said reaching up and fixing Sherlock's hat, brushing his dark curls away so they fit better the hat.

"Are you quite finished?" Sherlock asked angrily.

"Yep, come on." John handed him back one of the bags and together they left the flat.

XXXX

Sherlock didn't care that John seemed to buy a present for everyone but him. After all, he didn't want a present, or at least he thought he didn't. But it seemed that John had taken great care in picking out presents for each person. Sherlock couldn't help but wonder what John would have gotten for him.

They stopped at Lestrade's house first and gave him, his wife and children presents. Sherlock was thankful they didn't stop at The Met to give Lestrade his gifts. Sherlock was certain he would never live down wearing his ridiculous hat. Lestrade kept glancing at him and suppressing a smile. Sherlock glowered at him in response.

For Lestrade, John had picked out a jersey from his favorite rugby team. Mrs. Lestrade got a nice bottle of her favorite perfume and the kids each received a handheld video game. They stayed for longer than Sherlock would have liked until John finally said they had to go.

Their next stop was St. Bart's. John gave Molly two matching sweaters for her cats and her eyes lit up when she opened them. She gave both John and Sherlock hugs and thanked them. Sherlock was about to tell her that he'd had nothing to do with the gift when John kicked him and shook his head. Sherlock couldn't help feeling kicking someone in the shin wasn't really very Christmas spirited.

Then they went and found Mike Stamford in his classroom grading papers. His present consisted of a nice bottle of wine and two tickets to see a West End play. Apparently Mike's wife had been hinting there was a play she wanted to see but Mike didn't have the money to spend.

After they left the hospital, they stopped off at John's work and passed out presents to all his co-workers. People Sherlock hardly knew gave him hugs of gratitude. If John was attempting to change his mind about Christmas, unnecessary touching from strangers wasn't going to do the trick.

Everyone at the surgery seemed to be under the impression that John and Sherlock were a couple. It didn't help that they seemed to be giving out joint gifts. Every time Sherlock tried to mention that the gifts were from John alone, his flat-mate seemed to find a way to cut him off.

Their last stopped at the Surgery was Sarah's office. She greeted John warmly; apparently their break up hadn't put a damper on their working relationship. She even smiled at Sherlock and gave him a look that made him a bit uncomfortable. There were a lot of implications behind that look. Sherlock figured she had come to the same wrong conclusion as her co-workers.

"Didn't expect you to be the Christmas type." She said raising an eyebrow and looking pointedly at Sherlock's hat. He thought about ripping it off his head but he'd endured so far, it seemed rather pointless. At least it was making John happy.

"I made him wear it." John confessed, shooting Sherlock a triumphant grin. "Because he's being my helper today."

"That's nice." That same knowing look was back and Sherlock didn't like it. He pursed his lips into a straight line and stared her down for a moment before turning his head away. He stood there awkwardly while John gave Sarah her present. It was a small charm bracelet that she slipped onto her wrist.

"John, it's beautiful. You saw me eyeing it in the store?"

"Yes." John admitted, smiling sheepishly.

Sherlock huffed out a breath to communicate his impatience. John shot him a look but made their excuses. "We've still got a few more stops to make, we better go."

"Thank you John." Sarah said while pulling him into a tight hug. Sherlock sighed in exasperation and turned on his heel, storming out of her office.

"Don't mind the Grinch." John apologized.

"Hoping his heart will grow two sizes today?" Sarah teased.

"Maybe I'm hoping for a Christmas miracle." He joined in good-naturedly.

"You got him to wear that hat, how much more of a miracle are you looking for?" Sarah asked with a chuckle.

"Too true." John laughed as well.

Sarah bit her lip, as if she was unsure about what she was going to say. "John, be careful."

"Of what?" he asked, confused, his brow furrowing.

"Of him." Sarah eyes flicked from the direction Sherlock had disappeared to and back. "Look, I know what he's like and I know what you're like. Don't let him hurt you."

"Hurt me? What are you going on about?"

"Maybe I've got it all wrong, I just… I worry about you, how much of your life is dedicated to him. I mean you just have to read your blog – "

"Wait, do you think I'm in love with him or something?" John asked, blinking at her, slightly dumbfounded.

"Aren't you?"

John snorted, covering his mouth to keep from bursting out laughing. "No, I'm not in love with Sherlock."

"If you're sure." Sarah shrugged as if she didn't really believe him.

"I'm not." John said with conviction.

"Well, I suppose you'd know better than me." She still looked somewhat skeptical but wasn't going to press it. "But if you decide that you ever do feel that way about him, I hope you'll proceed with caution."

"Yeah, all right." John nodded, anxious to get this awkward conversation done with.

"Thanks again for the present John, it's lovely."

"You're welcome and happy Christmas." He said heading for the door.

"You too." She managed to get out before John fled.


	2. Chapter 2

"You were in there for awhile." Sherlock noted when John emerged from Sarah's office. "What were you two discussing?"

John could feel Sherlock's eyes on him, trying to figure it out on his own. "Nothing, at least nothing you'd be interested in. Just work stuff."

"Something's got you all riled up." Sherlock said, following John to the lift.

"I am not riled up. I'm fine." John snapped, hitting the call button harder than necessary. They heard the lift groan to life and waited for it to appear. Sherlock didn't speak again until they were out of the building and walking down the street. The bags were significantly lighter and they could have consolidated everything into one bag but John enjoyed the fact that for once Sherlock was actually being helpful.

"So where to next?" Sherlock asked, breaking their silence.

"Can't you figure it out?" John teased, bumping Sherlock with his elbow.

Sherlock took a moment to contemplate it before answering. "Well Mrs. Hudson will obviously be on the list."

"Yes, good. She's out last stop."

"Your sister Harry, of course."  
>"Harry and I exchanged gifts a few days ago."<p>

Sherlock was thankful of that. Harry read John's blog and seemed to be under the impression that they were sleeping together. The less time spent around her the better, especially when they were handing out presents together. Everyone else had come to the wrong conclusion and Harry already had misapprehension and their relationship.

"If we're giving a present to Anderson, I promise you I'll smash it before you have a chance to give it to him." Sherlock threatened.

John chuckled. "I'm not giving Anderson a present. I wouldn't waste money on that git."

"Good." Sherlock gave him a tight smile.

XXXX

They finished giving the last few gifts until there was just one lonely box left. They hailed a cab and headed back to 221B Baker Street. Mrs. Hudson would be leaving for Scotland the next day to spend Christmas with her sister. They arrived home and knocked on her door. They were let in and Mrs. Hudson disappeared to go put the kettle on while she finished packing.

They sat in her parlor, John in one of her wicker chairs, Sherlock on the settee. If anyone were going to mistake their intentions, it would be Mrs. Hudson, who always seemed to believe that they were together despite their insistence to the contrary. Honestly she was as bad as the rest of them except for maybe Harry who left inane comments on John's blog.

She walked back in, handing off two cups of tea. John chatted with her for a while as Sherlock grew more and more restless. This was more human interaction than he was used to having. Was John doing this on purpose to make him uncomfortable? Not that he particularly minded spending time with Mrs. Hudson. She was one of the few people Sherlock actually felt any affection for. Still making small talk after the day he'd had was the last thing he wanted to do.

He excused himself before Mrs. Hudson even had time to open her gift. He didn't really care what John had gotten her. It would be something nice, something she wanted but wouldn't get for herself. It would be in the same vein as all the other presents they'd dolled out through the afternoon. Besides Sherlock could just look around her flat any time and see what was new. It wouldn't be that hard to discover what John had gotten her

He paced their flat, shedding off his coat and chucking the stupid hat away. He tugged his fingers through his messy curls, certain they would be flat from where the hat had been. John came up a few minutes later, grinning smugly. He watched Sherlock pace for a few seconds before shrugging and heading upstairs.

Sherlock gritted his teeth and followed him. This was not something he could work out for himself and he needed answers. He needed data He burst into John's room without knocking but it didn't make any difference because John wasn't in his room. Sherlock heard a noise coming from the bathroom and turned.

John was in the shower and over the running water, Sherlock could hear singing. It was slightly off and he changed keys several times but it was still somehow heartwarming to listen too. Sherlock moved closer to the door, pressing himself as close to it as possible to continue listening. He didn't know the name of the song but then he'd deleted Christmas Carols.

"Giddy-up, giddy-up, giddy-up let's go, just look at the show. We're riding in a wonderland of snow."

It wasn't rational, enjoying listening to John sing badly. It should be off-putting. But the way he was singing it was just so cheerful. God it was intoxicating and if Sherlock had known the words he probably wouldn't have been able to stop himself from joining in. Did this have something to do with Christmas or John?

"Sleigh bells ring, are you listening, in the lane, snow is glistening, a beautiful sight, we're happy tonight walking in a winter wonderland."

Sherlock wished John would turn off the water so he could hear better. He also wanted John to sing something else besides Carols so he could figure out why he was so drawn to the sound. Was it simply that Christmas Carols evoked a certain warm feeling or was it the fact that John was singing them? He'd never heard John sing before, so that was a new experience.

John was doing well for a while, staying on pitch but then he went off key again and Sherlock cringed before his face spread into a wide smile. He just didn't understand how a man of John's age could still act like a kid when it came to Christmas. Surely the novelty of the holiday had worn off by now? He'd given out at least thirty presents today and received nothing in return. How could that possibly make him happy?

The water was turned off and Sherlock retreated quickly before John opened the door and found him listening in. That was hardly something a flat-mate was supposed to do. He went into John's room to wait for him and ask him some questions. He was going to find out what this whole Christmas thing was about before it drove him mad.

John entered his bedroom in nothing but a towel and for a moment Sherlock was dumbstruck. He'd never seen John in so little clothing. Usually he was wrapped up tight with nothing but his hands and face uncovered. Sometimes he'd be in nothing but a dressing gown but even then he was fairly well covered. Sherlock felt his body temperature elevate slightly and he cleared his throat.

"Sherlock, what the hell are you doing?" John demanded to know, hands on hips in irritation.

In order to ignore his biological responses to seeing John half-naked, Sherlock launched into his questions. "How did you do it John?"

"Do what?"

"How did you know exactly what to get everyone? Sarah and Mrs. Hudson are easy enough; you spend a considerable amount of time with them to know what they'd desire. But Lestrade and his family? How could you possibly know what his children wanted? Or all your co-workers. I wonder about you getting any work done at the Surgery since it appears you do nothing all day but chat with co-workers." Sherlock was pacing now, with John watching him looking befuddled.

"Sherlock, it's no great mystery." John said grinning bemusedly.

"Then how John? How?" Sherlock asked stopping in front of John and gripping his shoulders, shaking them slightly.

"Because unlike you, I actually listen when people talk to me and I don't delete it later."

"I listen when you talk." Sherlock said indignantly. He realized he was still touching John, whose skin was slightly damp and had a pleasant red shade from the hot shower.

"Alright then, what do I want for Christmas?" John challenged.

Sherlock thought it over. He went over the last few months but couldn't think of John even mentioning something he wanted as a gift. "I don't know." Sherlock admitted in defeat. "But that's only because you've been very careful not to mention Christmas around me because you know I don't like it. Still, it doesn't mean I don't listen."

"Fair enough." John shrugged. "Now if you don't mind, I'd kind of like to get dressed."

"Yes, of course." Sherlock said, sidestepping John and hurrying to the door. He was glad to get out of that room with John barely clothed. That conversation hadn't helped at all, if anything it had just made his mind more muddled.

He picked up his violin and began plucking out useless chords, trying to think. He was out of nicotine patches or else he would have applied one already. He would have to remember to tell John to pick some more up when he did the shopping.

John came downstairs ten minutes later, his hair still damp and making it look a darker shade than it really was. He had on a different Christmas jumper, this one with a Christmas tree on it. Sherlock thought about what was hiding underneath that ridiculously baggy sweater and felt the heat spread through him again. He tugged at his shirt collar and wondered how John could possibly be having such a strong affect on him.

John had made tea and wordlessly placed a cup at Sherlock's elbow. Sherlock gave him a small smile of gratitude and continued plucking out nonsense. John sat down in the chair opposite him, blowing on his tea to cool it. For a moment Sherlock was transfixed by John's mouth, wondering if his lips were as soft as his skin had felt. He cut off that thought immediately, playing a dissonant chord to derail it and pull him back to the present.

"Um, Sherlock."

"Yes?" he asked, putting his violin down in his lap and giving John his full attention. He now seemed determined to prove to John that he listened when John spoke.

"I know you said you didn't want anything for Christmas but I kind of got you something anyway."

Sherlock sighed to cover up the fact that he was intrigued. After a day of watching John give out the perfect gifts, Sherlock had become decidedly jealous. Still, he didn't want John to know that. "Fine, hand it over."

"Uh, it's not actually something I can give you." John informed him, blushing slightly.

"What, why not?" Sherlock's brow crinkled in confusion.

"It's not a physical thing. I uh…" John rubbed the back of his neck nervously.

"For God's sake just tell me!" Sherlock snapped impatiently.

"I called Mycroft and told him you couldn't make it home for Christmas dinner." John admitted, smiling slightly.

"What? Why would you do that?"

"Well, I also told my family I couldn't make it home either. I thought we could spend Christmas just the two of us, here at Baker Street. I mean, I know you don't really get on with your family and neither do I so I just thought…it's stupid."  
>"No John, it's brilliant!" Sherlock said, jumping out of his chair excitedly. He grabbed John's hands and pulled him up as well, embracing him.<p>

"Really?" John asked, clearly surprised by Sherlock's reaction.

"Of course it is! Anything to get out of an evening with Mycroft." Sherlock said pulling away but staying close.

"Gee, thanks." John grumbled.

"Oh come on, I didn't mean it like that. I've been trying to come up with an excuse to get out of it for years. Literally anything would be better than going to my Mother's for Christmas but this is so much better than anything I had ever come up with."

"Good." John grinned, looking very proud of himself. "There's just one thing. If you agree to Christmas here, we are actually going to celebrate Christmas. No lounging about all day like you normally do. No experiments just dinner and maybe watching a Christmas movie. Also, you don't get to complain about it. Those are my terms."

"Fine yes, they're acceptable."

"I'm glad."

XXXX

Sherlock couldn't sleep. It was Christmas Eve and he had no idea what to give John as a present. John had given him the best present he'd ever gotten, a chance to not spend time with his family. The idea of spending Christmas with John made him very happy and he wanted to return the favor, make John happy too. But what on Earth did John want?

He'd want something practical. John wasn't one for extravagance. Something he would actually use. But he couldn't think of anything John needed. He thought about getting John some new clothes or possibly burning one or all of those Christmas jumpers. That didn't seem like much of a gift for John. If anything that would be a gift for Sherlock.

No, stupid, stupid. John would want something with meaning. It was obvious from what John had given out as presents. Simply giving a gift to someone wasn't enough, it had to hold a special meaning to the person. John would expect his presents to do the same. That was why he didn't care about not receiving presents in return. He only wanted to get something if it held a sort of sentimental value to him. He didn't want to get mindless gifts just to get something.

Sherlock racked his brain but couldn't think of anything that fit the criteria. He supposed he could do the shopping for once. John might appreciate that. But since Sherlock had no idea what to buy, he'd probably botch the whole thing up. He could keep it simple and just buy some milk, which John was always harping at him to do. But when he checked the fridge, they already had milk.

There had to be something he could give John in return. What did John want? John loved Christmas, that much was obvious. He seemed to want Sherlock to love it too. He supposed he could pretend for John's sake but the idea of an entire day of feigning cheerfulness made him rethink that plan.

Then, suddenly, he recalled John singing in the shower and he got an idea. He ran downstairs and turned on his laptop, searching for sheet music. When he found what he was looking for, he printed it off and left the flat with his violin. He couldn't let John hear him practicing and spoil his present. He went to the park and sat down on one of the benches, pulling out his violin. He propped the music up inside his case so he could read it while he played.

He was so lost in what he was doing, trying to get the transitions perfect that he didn't notice a small crowd had formed around him, listening to him play. Someone dropped a fiver into his case and he turned to scowl at them until he noticed it was just a small boy. Instead he gave the boy a tight smile and a nod and continued on playing.

When he was finished, the small crowd gave him a round of applause. He gave a small bow of his head and began packing up his violin. It was just starting to snow and if his violin remained out in the cold for much longer he was going to have to retune the stings. As he headed back to the flat, he felt confident that he had chosen the right present for John. And if there happened to be a slight bounce in his step, he wasn't going to acknowledge it.

XXXX

John was stirred awake Christmas morning by the sound of a violin. He'd been woken up by Sherlock's playing countless times but this occasion was different for two reasons. One was the close proximity of the sound. Usually it was muffled through the floor. The other being what Sherlock was playing. It took John a moment to place it in his sleepy state but soon recognized it as "God Rest Ye Merry Gentlemen."

His eyes fluttered open to the sight of Sherlock sitting on the end of his bed, right by John's feet. He was sitting cross-legged, his eyes closed as he ran the bow along the strings. John blinked a few times to make sure it wasn't a dream and then took a moment the process the situation.

Sherlock had on his pajamas, his dressing gown up and fanning out behind him. John looked down at himself, where he had gone to bed in nothing but pajama bottoms, no shirt at all. He grabbed the sheets and pulled them up to cover himself. He wasn't sure why, after Sherlock had seen him in nothing but a towel there wasn't much point. Still, he had some small sense of modesty.

"There's tea on the bedside table." Sherlock spoke with his eyes still closed and without stopping.

"You made tea?" John asked incredulously.

"As you said, it's a fairly simple task and someone as clever as me could figure it out in no time." Sherlock replied.

"How many times did you get it wrong?" John asked, grinning at the thought of Sherlock trying to make tea and cocking it up.

"Five." Sherlock answered, finally opening his eyes but continuing playing. "Still I got it right in the end or at least I believe I did."

John reached out and held the mug in his hands for a moment. It was still warm and for a moment he breathed in the pleasant aroma before taking a tentative sip. "Oh god that's good." John groaned and took another generous sip.

Sherlock smiled triumphantly and switched songs, starting to play "Silent Night."

"You do realize that you now have no excuse not to make tea." John informed him, nudging his foot against Sherlock's playfully.

"You're still better at it than I am." Sherlock gave a tiny shrug without interrupting his playing. "Besides I have no patience for it."

"It's really not that time consuming if you get it right the first time." John teased.

Sherlock narrowed his eyes at him for a second and then closed them entirely, concentrating on playing. John continued to sip his tea, listening as Sherlock switched effortlessly into "Oh Little Town of Bethlehem."

"So why exactly are you playing Christmas Carols?" John finally asked.

"Because it's Christmas." Sherlock answered simply.

"You don't like Christmas."

"Not overtly no."

"You despise Christmas music."

"I find some of it more tolerable than others. Also, you like Christmas music and thus I am playing you some." Sherlock reasoned.

A warm feeling spread through John's chest, constricting it and making him feel like he couldn't breath. He wasn't used to Sherlock being so…nice. What on Earth had gotten into him? He'd made tea, he was playing his violin specifically for John and playing songs he didn't even like. John could do nothing but stare at his flat-mate in awe.

Sherlock finished the current song and put his violin down for a moment. "Why are you stopping?" John asked, wanting more.

"I just want to inform you that this next song is what I'm considering your Christmas present."

"Then what were all the others?"

"Just leading up to it I guess. This song is intended especially for you though." Sherlock said giving John a small smile before raising the instrument back up to his chin. John held his breath as he waited for Sherlock to begin. As he started the first few notes, John recognized it instantly.

Sherlock kept his eyes open as he played, staring at John to gage his reaction. John bit his lip and felt close to tears. Sherlock was playing "Carol of the Bells," John's favorite Christmas song. It was perfect, completely perfect and so beautiful sounding that John was overwhelmed. There was a lump in his throat that refused to leave no matter how hard he swallowed.

As Sherlock played the final note, holding it out until it faded to nothing, John could do little else but sit there in astonishment. Sherlock lowered the violin and placed it next to him on the bed. "What did you think?" he asked, looking almost shy.

"God Sherlock that was…" John didn't have words to describe what it was. It was beyond anything he'd ever heard before and he knew any version of that song he'd hear from this point on would pale in comparison. He had the strongest urge to crawl across the bed and kiss Sherlock deeply. It was a strange thought and he shook his head slightly to get it out.

"I didn't have very long to practice." Sherlock admitted quickly.

"Sherlock." John said softly, placing his tea back down on the table and moving closer so he could place his hand over his flat-mate's. "It was beautiful. Thank you."

"So you liked it?"

"Very much. Probably the nicest Christmas gift I've ever gotten. How did you know that was my favorite Christmas song?"

"You hum it sometimes, under your breath. Also it's been your ringtone all month."

"Oh right." He nodded. He wasn't sure why he'd assumed Sherlock had just known. However it didn't make the gesture any less thoughtful. "Would you mind playing it again?"

"Not at all."

XXXX

The rest of Christmas passed by in a lazy haze. They had eggs and toast for breakfast, sitting together at the table while John could still hear Sherlock playing in his head. Maybe at some point he'd ask if he could record Sherlock playing it so he could listen to it whenever.

Afterwards they sat together on the couch with a bowl of popcorn between them and watched The Great Escape. Sherlock complained about the unnecessary addition of an American character while John didn't really mind. You couldn't beat the awesomeness that was Steve McQueen, except with maybe James Bond.

John took the time to call his family and offer his apologies that he wasn't going to be there for Christmas. He asked if Sherlock was going to do the same and got an death glare in response. When they got ready to open presents, John retrieved his Santa hat from his room and even managed to get Sherlock back into his elf hat. They talked about nothing in particular while opening what few presents they had gotten.

Mrs. Hudson had knitted each of them a new scarf, Sherlock's a blue plaid and John's a red and white striped one. They both put them on even though it was relatively warm in the flat. Mycroft had sent Sherlock's and John's gifts from their families over so they could open them on the day. John felt somewhat guilty that he wasn't there to thank his family in person but they knew he was grateful.

When they finished, John got started on dinner, leaving Sherlock to do whatever he wanted for a while, which ended up being sitting on the couch with his laptop. John got to work making Christmas dinner. It was much milder than he was used to but since he was preparing it all on his own and Sherlock wouldn't eat much anyway, he wasn't about to go all out.

The Turkey he'd gotten was the smallest one he could find. John knew he wasn't much of a cook but he figured he could cook a turkey. While it baked for a few hours, he got started on everything else; the stuffing, the roasted potatoes, the cranberry sauce and the bread sauce. He was just finishing the potatoes when Sherlock wandered in and stuck his fingers in the cranberry sauce, lifting it to his mouth to taste it.

"Oi, leave it." John said batting him away with a spatula.

"John, you do realize you're cooking for two people, right? Not twenty."

"Yeah, cooking too much food is sort of a Watson family tradition that I seem to have caught from my mother. I'll take the leftovers for lunch or something."

"You're making roasted potatoes." Sherlock said frowning down at the pan John was currently cooking them in.

"Yeah, what of it?"

"We always do mashed potatoes at my house."

"Then go have dinner there." John grumbled, taking the potatoes off the burner.

"You didn't put any mushrooms in the stuffing." Sherlock informed him, leaning over the table and taking a bit of the stuffing in between his fingers and examining it.

"Hey!" John said smacking him the spatula yet again. "Hands off the food until everything's ready and no I didn't put mushrooms in the stuffing because I don't like mushrooms. One more word out of you about my cooking and I'll send you packing off to your mother's." John threatened as best he could while wearing a green Christmas apron with snowmen on it.

"You wouldn't." Sherlock challenged.

"Don't push me. One phone call and you know your brother would have a car sent right over. Now go do something else and I'll let you know when the food's done."

"But John –"

"Out." John walked around the table and started to shove him towards the door. "Out of the kitchen."

"Fine, I'm going!" Sherlock yelped, stalking off to his room.

When dinner was finally finished, Sherlock was allowed back. John had cleaned the table of all of Sherlock's experiments so they could actually eat off it for once. He'd made sure to spray the table down with bleach just to be sure nothing got contaminated. He'd set the table, not trusting Sherlock enough to do it and then called his flat-mate in.

"Oh, I'm allowed back in now, am I?" Sherlock asked while pouting.

"Yes, come on already before it gets cold."

They ate together while sharing stories about Christmases that had come before. Sherlock told John about Mummy, whom John had never met but from how Sherlock and Mycroft turned out and how Sherlock described her, John could also assume she'd be quite frightening. He wondered if he'd ever meet the matriarch of the Holmes's family but now he wasn't sure he really wanted to.

When they'd eaten their fill and John felt ready to burst, he pulled Mrs. Hudson's eggnog out of the fridge. It was her "famous eggnog" according to her. He grabbed two glasses and a packet of biscuits and they went to sit in their chairs. John turned on the telly and flipped through the channels until he found something Christmas-y. It ended up being one of the clay animation specials involving Santa having a cold.

They sat in companionable silence, watching the show and drinking much too much of the eggnog. When it got relatively dark outside, John turned on the lights of the Christmas tree and sat back down. Sherlock kept glancing over at him and every time their eyes met, they'd smile at each other for a moment before turning away. John was reminded of waking up to the sight of Sherlock on his bed and thought he wouldn't mind waking up to that again. In fact he wouldn't mind waking up with his arms around Sherlock, keeping each other warm on cold winter nights. But that was dangerous thinking so instead he poured both of them another glass of Mrs. Hudson's lethal eggnog.


	3. Chapter 3

"Time for bed I think, John." Sherlock said while getting shakily to his feet. He stumbled a bit before making his way over to where John was curled up in his chair.

"'S a good idea." John slurred, nodding his head. He instantly stopped when his brain felt like it was moving inside his skull.

"Come on John." Sherlock tugged at his sleeve in an attempt to get him up off the chair.

"Maybe I'll just kip here." John replied. He didn't think he could move even if he wanted to.

"John." Sherlock sighed in exasperation. "You'll regret sleeping there in the morning."

"Fine, fine." John said uncurling his limbs and slowly sitting up. Even that seemed like too much and he dropped his head back onto his chair and he shut his eyes.

"If you don't get up, I'll carry you." Sherlock threatened, looming over John, his hand on the back of John's chair. John's eyes snapped open and he looked up at his flat-mate to see if he was serious.

"You wouldn't."

"I would." Sherlock responded, his eyes menacing and his grin devilish.

"I can't move, my head feels like it's swimming in alcohol." John groaned, pressing his fingers to his temples and rubbing in small circles.

"You'll be fine." Sherlock reassured him, helping him to his feet. The movement was too quick and John hurled forward until Sherlock wrapped his arms around him to keep him from toppling over. But John already had too much momentum and as a result they both fell in a heap on the floor.

"Ow." John rubbed his elbow where it had made contact. Sherlock had landed half on top of John, with his face buried in the crook of his neck. Sherlock started giggling and that set John off and for a moment the two of them shook uncontrollably.

The laughing stopped when Sherlock pressed his lips to the bit of exposed flesh at the collar of his jumper. John went rigid, unsure how to respond. Had that been an accident? He stayed very still until Sherlock did it again, this time sucking a bit. John's head was fuzzy and he couldn't process what was happening. He couldn't think. It didn't feel bad; in fact it felt extremely pleasant. But his mind couldn't wrap around the fact that it was Sherlock who was doing it.

"Sherlock?" John whispered softly into the room, the man's name hanging in the air. The one word held so much, all the questions running through John's head, held in the single word. _What are you doing? Are you sure? What does this mean? Is this going to ruin everything? What do you want? Why now? Is this only because you're drunk? Are you going to hate me in the morning? What happened to being married to your work? Why am I not stopping you? Do you want me to stop you? _

"Is this alright?" Sherlock murmured against John's skin, making it tingle with the feel of his hot breath on his neck.

"Yes." John answered back almost immediately. He swallowed, trying to relieve his mouth of the dryness that had overtaken it.

It seemed to be all the confirmation Sherlock needed. "Come on." He said rising to his feet in way that was too graceful for his current state. John couldn't help hating him just a bit for being so elegant even when smashed.

Sherlock held out his hand and John accepted it, pulling himself up. He leaned into Sherlock to keep himself upright. They made their way towards the stairs until John lost his footing and they went sailing to the wall, John put his arms up to brace himself as they smacked into it, Sherlock's head bumping against it with a soft thud.

"You and Mrs. Hudson's eggnog are really a quite hazardous combination." Sherlock mused, rubbing the back of his head where it had hit the wall. John couldn't help noticing that his friend was trying to suppress a grin.

John had his hands on the wall on either side of Sherlock, trapping him in. It would have been quite a suggestive stance if it were anyone else. But this was John and Sherlock. Sherlock was his best friend and things just simply weren't like that between them. But then his mind conjured up the image of Sherlock sucking his neck. He reached up and touched where Sherlock's mouth had been, wondering if that had actually happened.

"Yes." Sherlock nodded as if he could read John's mind. John looked at him, his blue-grey eyes looking vibrant in the darkness of the room. John stared at him unblinkingly, transfixed for a moment. Sherlock chewed thoughtfully at his bottom lip as if deciding something before he curled his fingers around the nape of John's neck and pulled him closer. He stopped when they were less than an inch apart, their lips barely touching, giving John a chance to pull away. John felt high on the feeling of sharing breath with Sherlock and he knew he wouldn't pull away even if doing so were the smart course of action.

Instead he pressed forward with his whole body, from knees to chest until finally their lips connected. "This is a terrible idea." John said giving Sherlock a series of short kisses, which his flat-mate returned.

"Worse than running after serial killers?" Sherlock asked, cocking an eyebrow.

"So you're saying what were currently engaged in could be dangerous?" John asked moving in and giving Sherlock a long, languid kiss that finally involved the use of their tongues.

"Definitely." Sherlock breathed, his eyes shut tight and his breathing shallow.

"But I'm drunk." John reasoned, running his hand down Sherlock's arm slowly until their hands met and their fingers twined.

"Excellent deduction." Sherlock replied dryly.

"And so are you." John pressed on, ignoring Sherlock's sarcasm.

"Also very astute of you, although I'm not that drunk."

"Yes you are."

"I have a very high tolerance for alcohol."

"How, you're so skinny, like a strong wind would knock you over. There's no way you're not pissed."

"You've had more than I have." Sherlock argued.

"Hardly. Every time I filled my glass I filled yours too because you're too lazy to get up and—"

"John." Sherlock interrupted.

"Hmm?"

"Shut up." Sherlock said before pulling on their entwined hands so John stumbled back into him, their lips crashing together. Their kisses became sloppy as Sherlock sucked greedily on John's tongue. Any thoughts of protestation left John's mind and were filled instead with Sherlock. God, he could kiss those full, pink lips for hours. But Sherlock seemed to have other ideas as he started pulling John towards the bedroom. The stairs were difficult to manage in their intoxicated state but it was better than trying to navigate the clutter of Sherlock's room.

They crashed in through the door, yanking and pulling at each other in a swirl of limbs and teeth and tongues. They eventually made it over to the bed, tumbling in it together. "I didn't think you did this." John said breathlessly as he took his time unbuttoning Sherlock's shirt.

"This being sex?" Sherlock asked, enjoying the feel of John's strong and calloused hands against his skin as more of his flesh became exposed.

"Yes." John nodded before lowering his head and taking one of Sherlock's nipples into his mouth, tugging at it with his teeth and making Sherlock moan.

"And I thought you were completely – Ah! – heterosexual." Sherlock countered almost like an accusation.

"Mostly I am but I'm willing to make an exception." John shrugged before moving his attention over to the other nipples, running his tongue over and around it.

"As am I." Sherlock responded, fisting his hands into John's hair.

They began kissing again, sloppy, wet kisses that only stopped when one of them had to break away to remove some clothing. When they were both stripped of all their layers, the laid flush against each other with Sherlock staring up at John with heavy-lidded eyes.

"God, I knew you were going to be trouble the moment I agreed to move in here." John sighed, running his thumb along Sherlock's cheek.

"Is that what I am?" Sherlock asked with a soft chuckle.

"Oh yeah." John nodded before lowering his head to kiss Sherlock thoroughly. He rocked his hips experimentally, his cock sliding up Sherlock's leg until it made contact with Sherlock's. He moved, lining up their hips and did it again, causing Sherlock to moan against his mouth. "Definitely trouble."

John started kissing down Sherlock's face, across his cheek and down to his jaw. He nipped at Sherlock's chin before descending down, sucking at the freckle on his neck. He continued lower, trailing his tongue across Sherlock's stomach and dipping it into his belly button. He followed the line of hair down and flicked his tongue against the tip of Sherlock's prick. He rested back on his heels, bent over Sherlock and positioned in between his legs with a tantalizing view of his very erect penis.

"John…" Sherlock groaned, arching up as an invitation. John accepted it, taking the bulbous head of Sherlock's cock into his mouth and sucking hard. He slipped his fingers into Sherlock's mouth, who started running his tongue around them and sucking in turns. John moved his mouth lower onto Sherlock's prick and pulled back up, grazing his teeth along his length.

"hmgsh" Sherlock mumbled around John's fingers. John pulled up and off, pressing a kiss to the head. He slipped his spit slick fingers out of Sherlock's mouth and moved them down until they were pressed against Sherlock's opening. He moved them in small circles until he felt Sherlock relax. He pressed them in slowly, giving Sherlock time to adjust.

"Oh God. Oh God." Sherlock cried out, tilting his hips up and allowing John better access, his head thrown back against the pillows.

John moved them back out and immediately pressed them back in. "Christ." He said dropping his head against Sherlock's hip. The tight heat and the feel of Sherlock clenching around him made his cock start leaking in anticipation. He moved them in again, this time finding that bump, stroking it slowly while Sherlock writhed against the sheets.

"John…" Sherlock groaned, grinding his hips down against the other man's fingers, pushing them in deeper, his head thrashing back and forth.

John started licking up and down Sherlock shaft with his fingers scissoring inside his hole, opening him up. His thumb began rubbing Sherlock's perineum, moving in slow circles and then up and down, massaging the area. Sherlock's legs were shaking and he fisted his hands into John's hair, tugging on it slightly. He licked the underside of Sherlock's cock from root to tip and then stretched his lips around him and sunk back down. He did a few long pulls, taking Sherlock as deep as he could without choking.

"John please." Sherlock begged, unsure what for. To come, to have John inside him, for something. He needed more, he needed everything.

John dislodged his mouth, his lips red and swollen from sucking. He also slipped his fingers out and Sherlock whimpered at the loss. John crawled up his body and gave him a long, deep kiss. "Be right back." He said slipping off the bed.

"Where are you going?" Sherlock whined, eyes following John as he went across the hall to the bathroom. He stumbled around, his feet failing him and he kept one hand on the wall to keep himself steady. He stubbed his toe the doorframe of the bathroom and hissed from the pain. He rubbed it for a moment, his head spinning a bit.

He opened the cabinet behind the mirror until he found what he was looking for. He returned with just as much difficulty, the Vaseline in hand. He tripped over his own feet and went crashing into the bed.

"Oof." He said landing on his stomach right next to Sherlock.

"Ok?" Sherlock drawled.

John nodded and looked over at Sherlock, his mouth gaping open the moment he noticed his flat-mate stroking himself slowly. "Jesus fucking fuck." He said mesmerized by the sight of his friend sated and relaxed, gently playing with himself.

John flipped over onto his back and opened the tub of Vaseline. He scooped up a bit of the goop and began applying it to his cock. Sherlock watched avidly, both of them touching themselves with the same punishing strokes. When John was all slicked up, he rolled over on top of Sherlock and slipped his finger back into his hole, making sure he was still open enough to take him.

"John, I've waited long enough." Sherlock groaned as John played with his prostate, brushing his finger against it unhurriedly.

"Tell me you want this." John requested,

"Obviously." Sherlock slurred, the end of the word coming out as a bit of a mumble.

"With me, this is something you want with me. It's not just about getting off but that you want me to be the one who does it." John wouldn't be able to continue if he didn't know this was something Sherlock wanted. He was dreading the thought that this was merely convenience or an experiment. He didn't think he'd be able to handle Sherlock not wanting him in the same way.

"Yes, John yes." Sherlock replied, pulling John's face to his for a toe-curling kiss. Their tongues slid against each other's and Sherlock snaked his hand down, fisting his hand around John's cock and jerking him. "I want this. Want you. So long. Please. I need it. Need to feel you."

"That's not the alcohol talking, is it?" John asked, not ready to trust this yet. There was still so much that could go wrong. But Sherlock's hand was still around John's prick, fingers playing with John's foreskin, pulling it back to rub his thumb over the glands.

Sherlock shook his head. "Means to an end. We would have gotten here eventually, the alcohol just sped up the process. Now please stop talking and fuck me."

"I don't think I've ever heard you say please so much."

"You're still talking." Sherlock frowned.

"Right, shutting up now." John said bending down to press more kisses to Sherlock's lips. He slowly eased his cock out of Sherlock's grasp and ran the head up and down the cleft of Sherlock's arse a few times before pressing in.

"Yes. More. Yes." Sherlock hissed, grinding his hips down, trying to hurry the process.

"Slow down." John insisted, grabbing Sherlock's hips and stilling him. John continued pressing in at his own pace, thrusting in slowly, pushing back out and thrusting in deeper still each time.

John's body had broken out in sweat as he continued to ease into his flat-mate. Sherlock had wrapped his legs around John, his heels digging into his arse. Sherlock was making keening noises, a wanton look on his face as he stared at John through dark, hooded eyes. When John was buried to the hilt, he kissed his friend, sucking and biting at his plump lips.

John stayed stationary for a moment, allowing Sherlock time to adjust. When he started moving, his motions were slow, pulling almost all the way out and then pushing back in as deep as possible. They mouths moved to compensate for their bodies sliding against each other's. They didn't break apart until John quickened his pace, making it difficult to keep their lips together.

John alternated between slow, even and deep thrusts that made Sherlock gasp and quick, sharp thrusts that sent sparks of arousal shuddering through Sherlock's body. He had his lips parted and was panting, clinging to John as he drove endlessly into him.

"Christ Sherlock, this is… unlike anything I've ever…fuck." John murmured, losing his train of thought. He was lost in the feeling of Sherlock tight and hot around him, holding onto him as if his life depended on it.

"John…" Sherlock said in one long moan.

Sherlock's cheeks had become flushed, his hair sticking to his forehead from sweat. His pupils were blown wide, his eyes darker than John had ever seen them. "You're so fucking gorgeous, especially now, just like this." John sighed, looking down at the man he adored.

"John, so good. John. You always know how to take care of me. How to make me feel complete." _I love you. _

Sherlock froze for a moment. Had he said that out loud or had he merely thought it? He couldn't tell but from the way John had stopped moving, he assumed he had probably spoken the words. Bugger. This was why he never drank alcohol. It stopped the wires connecting his brain to his mouth, causing him to blurt out things. Things that shouldn't be spoken. Damn. Damn, damn, damn it all to hell.

John was staring at him, his eyes widened in disbelief. Sherlock desperately tried to think of something he could add on to make it less awkward. I love you…living here with me. I love you coming with me on cases. I love you being my blogger. I love you as a friend. I love you being inside me. It was too late now though, too much time had passed. Oh God what had he done? John was never supposed to know and now he did and it was going to ruin everything.

Sherlock swallowed around the lump in his throat and turned his face away. John reached up and gently started stroking Sherlock's cheek. Sherlock tentatively brought his gaze back to John's, who lowered his head so their foreheads were resting against each other's. For a moment they just stared at each other, Sherlock never forgetting the fullness he felt of John still inside him.

And to Sherlock's amazement, John actually laughed. Just a soft chuckle with a soft shake of his head, making their foreheads and noses rub against each other's and sending a pleasant vibration through Sherlock. "You couldn't have picked a worse time to tell me that."

"Nonsense. I can think of loads of worse instances to make such a declaration." Sherlock argued wondering if he should mention a few to ease the tension. _John please just ignore my idiotic outburst so we can continue on as we have been or better yet go back to fucking me so I can feel like I'm yours at least for a little while. _

"Mad bastard." John grumbled before attacking Sherlock's mouth with his own. He rocked his hips and started to move again, gaining speed with each thrust. Sherlock felt all the tension leave his body and got lost in John. He tilted his hips up and John's cock brushed against his prostate, making him gasp and clutch John tighter. He was fairly certain he would never let go.

"Yes, right there, do that again." Sherlock pleaded as John drove into him nice and deep, cock brushing against that sweet spot over and over until Sherlock was hardly coherent.

"Christ." John swore as Sherlock's head was thrown back, his neck elongated. John lowered his head and sucking the pale and inviting skin until it turned purple. He bit at the bruise that had formed, causing Sherlock to spasm underneath him and eliciting a sharp gasp.

John snaked his hand between their bodies and began wanking Sherlock in long twisting pulls. Sherlock was breathless, his mind going blank at the overwhelming stimulation. John began jerking him in time to his thrusts and Sherlock felt his orgasm coiling inside him. He was reduced to desperate moans and whimpers until he felt himself right on the edge. One quick, hard thrust against his prostate and a tight tug on his cock and he tipped over. "Oh, John. Oh. Oh. John!" he cried out, his body shuddering and shaking as his release spilled between them.

The feeling of Sherlock clenching around him as he finished his orgasm sent John spiraling as well and with a few more thrusts, he buried his face in the crook of Sherlock's neck and muffled his shout of ecstasy against his friend's skin. He rode out the end of his orgasm and then untangled himself from his flat-mate, falling to the bed next to him. He closed his eyes for a moment but could feel Sherlock's gaze on him. He looked over and noticed Sherlock was biting his lower lip, looking unsure of what to do next.

John grabbed his t-shirt off the floor and cleaned them both up before chucking it at his hamper. He scooted closer to the man in bed with him, wrapping his arm around him. Sherlock rested his head on John's shoulder, hiding his face in John's neck. He reached down and cupped Sherlock's chin, forcing their eyes to meet.

"You know, I think I might be too drunk to remember what you said."

Sherlock looked at him, his eyes searching for the meaning behind John's words. Was John letting him off the hook? Was he saying they should just forget what Sherlock had said? If it would make things less awkward then Sherlock was willing to delete that part of the evening but keep the rest. Especially the part where John called him gorgeous.

John brought Sherlock's face to his and kissed him slowly and unhurriedly. When they finally broke apart, John didn't go far, their lips still touching as John murmured "I think you'll have to remind me in the morning. And the next morning and every one that follows."

John smiled and the sight made Sherlock's heart flutter. Surely that wasn't the right response to something as simple as someone smiling at you. But it was John and he had such a nice smile. Sherlock put his head back down on John's shoulder and threw his leg over John's, snuggling in closer.

"If that's what you want." Sherlock muttered, eyes already drooping closed.

"It is." John said pressing a kiss to the top of his head. "If it helps, when you tell me tomorrow morning, I'm going to inform you that I love you too."

Sherlock smiled to himself and squeezed John tighter. "This Christmas is infinitely better than all the other's combined." He said with a yawn, ready to drift off to peaceful slumber.

"So next Christmas I won't have to listen to you complain?" John asked as he pulled the duvet out their intertwined bodies.

"If I do you have my permission to kiss me until I shut up."

"I think I might do that anyways." John chuckled, the sound rumbling in his chest.

"Good." Sherlock sighed in relief, settling in against John in what he could only describe as contentment.

"Happy Christmas Sherlock."

"Happy Christmas John."

~End~


End file.
